


Popular

by Brambleshadow_of_WindClan



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s02e04 The Girl in the Fireplace, Gen, Plot What Plot, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose and Reinette have an . . . interesting conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Popular

**Author's Note:**

> Um, this is nothing but pure and total crack. All blame lies with me watching a _Doctor Who_ fanvid set to the song "Popular" from _Wicked_ that had Reinette as Glinda and Rose as Elphaba. And the muses thought it would be a good idea to make that video into a crack!fic.
> 
> I own nothing, not even the idea.
> 
> I totally blame the muses for this one. And my recent obsession with the Broadway musical _Wicked_.

 

Reinette was standing near a window, looking out at the night sky, when Rose stepped through the portal from the 51st century spaceship. The French aristocrat turned around after a few seconds, studied Rose critically, and then said, “Rose, now that we're friends, I’ve decided to make you my new project.”

Rose, taken aback, flinched and raised her hands in front of her to waist level. “You really don’t have to do that,” she said quickly. Where had this come from? What made Reinette think they were friends? They hardly knew each other! The only thing they had in common was the Doctor, and not even him.

“I know,” Reinette said brightly. “That's what makes me so nice!”

Rose blinked, feeling her ire rise, and sat down in the closest chair.

Reinette, who had been sitting in a chair across from Rose and now stood, didn’t seem to notice as she continued, “Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I (and let’s face it—who isn’t less fortunate than I?) my tender heart tends to start to bleed. And when someone needs a makeover, I simply have to take over. I know, I know exactly what they need.” Reinette, walked closer to Rose until she was up in the other woman’s face, ran a strand of Rose’s wavy blonde hair through her fingers before letting it drop. “And even in your case, though it’s the toughest case I’ve yet to face, don’t worry—I’m determined to succeed. Follow my lead and yes, indeed you will be popular. You’re gonna be popular!”

Rose, more than a little disconcerted, stepped back out of the French woman’s reach. What the hell had brought this on? She was also starting to become more than a little irritated. (And why was Reinette quoting a song from _Wicked_ , which wouldn’t be written for another two centuries or so? Then again, she was on a spaceship with time windows to France, which shouldn’t have been possible in the first place and had screwed up Reinette’s timeline anyway. So why not just go with it?)

“I’ll teach you the proper poise when you talk to boys, little ways to flirt and flounce—ooh! I’ll show you what shoes to wear, how to fix your hair, everything that really counts to be popular. I’ll help you be popular!”

Rose shook her head. That wasn’t what she wanted, at all, and she was perfectly happy traveling with the Doctor. And Mickey, she supposed, but mostly the Doctor. Not that she appreciated his current behavior with Madame de Pompadour, who—if she remembered her history lessons correctly—was actually a commoner, the illegitimate daughter of a financier exiled for fraud; despised by other women of the King’s social class; and had to work hard for her role as King Louis XV’s mistress. Besides, she’d never cared about being one of the in-crowd when she was at school; that had never appealed to her.

Reinette’s voice had turned to more of a singsong by now, and she was definitely ignoring Rose’s silent objections. “You'll hang with the right cohorts,” she continued. “You’ll be good at sports, know the slang you've got to know. So let's start ’cause you've got an awfully long way to go.”

Rose pulled a face, which Reinette _did_ notice. The French blonde reassured her, “Don’t be offended by my frank analysis. Think of it as personality dialysis.”

 _Yeah, that helps,_ Rose thought sarcastically.

“Now that I’ve chosen to become a pal, a sister and adviser, there’s nobody wiser. Not when it comes to popular—I know about popular. And with an assist from me to be who you’ll be instead of dreary who-you-were—well, are!—there’s nothing that can stop you from becoming popular—lar,” Reinette corrected herself. She bust into song with “La la, la la” then went back to the singsong cadence: “We’re gonna make you popular.

“When I see depressing creatures with unprepossessing features I remind them on their own behalf to think of celebrated heads of state or especially great communicators. Did they have brains or knowledge? Don’t make me laugh! Ha, ha! They were popular!

“Please— It’s all about popular! It’s not about aptitude. It's the way you're viewed. So it's very shrewd to be very, very popular like me!”

Rose flinched back, stung. Was Reinette helping her or making fun of her? Just because she was a shopgirl from London in the 21st century didn’t mean that—

Reinette voice broke into her thoughts as the French beauty said softly, “Why, Rose, look at you. You're beautiful.”

Rose backed up, heading for the portal she’d come through. “I—I have to go:” Without waiting for Reinette’s answer, she turned and fled, not bothering to look back.

“You’re welcome,” Reinette called after her. Her singing voice followed Rose all the way back to the TARDIS:

“And though you protest your disinterest, I know clandestinely you’re gonna grin and bear it—your new found popularity—hah! La, la, la, la . . . You’ll be popular— just not quite as popular as me!”

The last note hung in the air, drawn out only to be covered by the sound of otherworldly engines as the Doctor’s timeship dematerialized, leaving behind a portrait of the woman whom the 51st century spaceship was named after.


End file.
